Going Gray III

By Carolyn J. Rose

The long journey into gray is nearly over.

A year ago I sucked it up and made the decision to stop coloring my hair.

The first few months—and inches—were the hardest, especially since I decided to let go and let it grow without benefit of rinses to cover the roots during the process.

Every time I looked in the mirror I had second thoughts. Every time I caught women at the pool staring, I waffled. Several times I almost dialed the salon to beg my hairdresser for forgiveness and plead for her to take me back.

But then came the day when the last bit of color was out of my bangs and I spotted a swath of silvery gray. I tell myself it adds character. And, let’s be brutally honest, it will ensure that I get a senior discount if I don’t happen to have my driver’s license as proof of age.

AN END TO THE COVER-UP

Carolyn J. Rose

Twenty years ago I passed in front of a mirror in a poorly lit room and saw my mother.

Actually, I saw myself, but in the dim light with short mousy brown hair sprinkled with gray and a blouse resembling one she owned, the resemblance was uncanny.

The next day I streaked my hair and vowed to let it grow.

Don’t get me wrong, my mother was an attractive woman and I admired her. But my gut reaction was that I was too young to look like that—“like that” meaning “old.”

Now I’m about the age she was when I glanced into that mirror. My husband’s hair and beard are gray-white and the wrinkles in my face are telling me I’m not kidding anyone—least of all myself—with the golden-brown dye job I have now. It’s time to stop the cover-up.

 I tried out the idea on some friends at the pool—some a little older and some a little younger. Comments ranged from “You seem to have lots of silvery white in there so I think it will look good” to “It’s your life” to “You can’t. You’ll look so old.”

My response? I am old. I’m started-on-Medicare-last-year old. Old enough that I don’t need to explain or defend a decision as minor as this.

Still, after two decades of dyeing, going gray won’t be easy. And it won’t be pretty. There will be growing pains. There will be moments when I reach for the phone to dial my hairdresser. There may even be tears.

But if I avoid mirrors, I think I can make it.

Root for me.

(Pun intended.)